


The Chair

by BillHadersLamestFan (JenTheSnarryShipper), ImSorryBillHader (JenTheSnarryShipper)



Category: Bill Hader - Fandom
Genre: Dear Bill Hader, Don't mind me over here, F/M, I'm probably insane, Lucid Dreaming, Oh god, To Bill Hader, i don't know what's going on, i'm sorry bill hader, vivid dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenTheSnarryShipper/pseuds/BillHadersLamestFan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenTheSnarryShipper/pseuds/ImSorryBillHader
Summary: This is really just a piece dedicated to Bill Hader.  Maybe he'll read it, I don't know.  I've been having these extremely vivid dreams with him, and to be honest, it's kind of freaking me out.  It's probably nothing, right?Please be kind.  I mean no harm.  I'm just trying to make sense of things.Sorry Bill (also I don't know him obviously).
Relationships: Bill Hader/Author, Bill Hader/Myself, Bill Hader/Original Female Character(s), Bill Hader/Writer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Chair

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for how odd this is, but it's a very personal fic, because this has been happening to me. Over and over and over. Dream after dream. They're different; always different. It's very strange.  
> I don't know Bill Hader, obviously, and I probably never will...but it's just so strange. I sound fucking insane. Oh well. It's a beautiful problem anyway, but it's an awkward problem, and I can't exactly go to an anonymous group with this sort of situation.  
> There are worse things to dream about, right?  
> On the off chance you're reading this...I don't know what's going on, and I'm really sorry if I crossed any lines. I just had to write it.  
> ~  
> As always,  
> Jen  
> The Snarry Shipper

**The Chair**

* * *

_To: Bill Hader_

_From: Jen_

* * *

“Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve lost my way.” She whispers, just loud enough so he can hear. “Down the rabbit-hole again.” She mutters, rolling her eyes at herself.

He swallows—but his mouth feels fucking dry, suddenly—and he feels his brain shut off for a moment. She’s very pretty, maybe even beautiful, but it’s fucking dark in this room. He notices her long legs, and her long black hair against pale skin. Just enough make-up to know that she obviously _doesn’t_ “need it,” but she chooses to wear it. She seems confident as she walks over—a little awkward—but he’s awkward, too, so it’s almost normal. 

She stretches, much like a cat, her black nails gleaming in the soft lighting. Her eyes are blue mirrors, as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Should I have worn a gold bikini?” She smiles beautifully back at him, and he snorts, despite the highly strange situation. When she laughs in response, shaking her head at her own comment, he catches a case of laughter. It eases a bit of tension off his shoulders. “Ugh, sorry. I’m the worst.” She blushes.

He just looks at her.

She bites her lip, “You okay?” 

He nods, smiling. _I know her, from somewhere, don’t I?_

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve asked you that…” She tells herself with a mysterious glint in her blue-grey eyes. She sighs deeply, sadly, closing her mouth. She swallows, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” She looks at him with worry, her knees seemingly locked, with that entrancing gaze.

His mouth has that dry feeling again. He clears his throat, but his voice is still just a rasp. “No.” He tries to clear it again, “Do I…know you?” He tries to move his legs, but he can’t, for whatever reason. He feels the restraints against his ankles, unsure of how they got there, or how _he_ got here. 

She just smirks back at him in response. About halfway to him, she sits on the floor, cross legged, just staring at him in his chair. She hums, “I only see you here.”

His eyes dart between her beautiful eyes and her legs—now she sits on the floor, just in front of him, mysteriously staring at his feet.

His breath quickens, and he feels…well. All he _can_ do is feel; adrenaline is overruling any thoughts he might be having.

“You know,” she says softly, “Usually we just…” she uncrosses her legs, pulling them toward her chest, “ _talk._ ”

“T-t-alk?” He stammers, but he isn’t nervous, he’s just unsure. “’Bout what?” The words spill out before his brain can catch up. Usually, he overthinks everything—not this time.

She looks up at him admiringly, “Well, we could talk about why you’re here.” She watches him swallow, and she decides to add, “I wish I knew why…” she whispers, “you always help me.” She nearly toys with one of his shoes, ghosting her finger over the tip. “It’s nice.”

He’s entranced, “We? I mean, I—”

She traces his big toe without actually touching his shoe. He takes a breath before continuing. “I…remember. We do, we talk all the time. Right?” A warm wave of familiarity washes over him. _It_ is _nice._

Their eyes meet. There’s a spark in his eyes that makes her smile. 

“Yeah, that’s right.” She says. “Do you remember what you dream of?”

His brows shoot up in surprise. “I’ve been having vivid dreams lately—of you, I think. There’s a woman.” He pinches his eyes shut to concentrate. “She doesn’t know me, I mean—hasn’t _met_ me. But it’s like,” he opens his eyes again, but he looks away from her, “right when I try to comfort her, _touch_ her, she’s gone. Jesus, I don’t know what I’m saying…” His voice trails off.

She brings a hand upward, almost covering his, and he watches, but she still doesn’t touch him. She’s really close to him, so he can see her face better.

“You _are_ her, right?” He murmurs to himself, his face wrinkled in concentration.

She looks at him sadly, attempting to mask it. She opens her mouth, then closes it. 

He wants to reach out and touch her to comfort her, but he can’t. Instead, he tries for calm, “What? What is it? You okay?”

She nods, swallowing. “ _This_ is a dream, Bill.”

He looks at her in confusion, shaking his head. “But…it’s so real…”

She puts a finger to his lips, not touching him, but hovering over them. “You’re not tied to that chair.”

He nearly laughs, confused as hell. “Right, _there is no spoon_.” But then, where he felt restraints before, there are none. His legs move freely. “What the—?” She laughs once—and there’s that wave of familiarity again. _I swear to God I know her._

She holds up her palm, looking at him with a longing pain. He holds his hand up as well, mirroring hers. 

“I’m afraid,” she whispers, “that if I touch you, the dream will end.”

His eyes widen. He doesn’t know what to say. “Tell me your name.” He has to know.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll never meet.” Her hand tingles where his almost touches hers, “You haven’t given up on love, have you?” She creases her brows in deep thought, “Maybe that’s why you’re dreaming of me…because I’ve given up on love, too.” Numbness floods her eyes.

His hand clasps hers, which gives her a jolt. He leans in and asks desperately, “Your _name_ —tell me your name…” 

She mouths her name, but it’s suddenly so blurry, and Bill’s ears are ringing. Ringing, blaring, louder and louder until he’s _forced_ to let go of her hand to cover his own ears.

There’s a darkness, until he opens his eyes.

His hand flails until it hits the snooze on his alarm clock. He sits straight up in a cold sweat. 

He thinks about what she said, about giving up on love. He puts his head in his hands. He wonders if she’s doing the same thing right now, with her head in her hands, or if he’s just gone crazy. His gut is telling him that it was real. He _thinks_ it was real.

_What was her goddamned name?_

He feels stiff, as if he was restrained in an uncomfortable chair. He uncovers himself, rubbing his sore ankles. His palm feels scorching hot, as if he was near a blue-flame.

* * *

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. So, that's what happened. With extra flair.


End file.
